Our Dumb Blog

Neither Dad nor my brother looked up as I carried the blender in its box from the kitchen, through the den, where each was busy reading or scribbling notes, and back into the computer room.

How excited do you get about a blender?

Dad and Ben didn’t even notice the pretty, white box capped with yellow at each end and awash with piles of perfect fruit on chipped ice, except, of course, where a picture of the blender itself leans stylishly to one side, as if to catch your attention in case it should lean too far and need catching itself. Pale yellow and green frozen drinks are propped in the background, topped with thin slivers of fruit and mint leaves, as if to provide a foreshadowing of good things to come.

As if we’ll use it to make anything other than protein shakes or vegetable gravy.

In the upper left-hand corner of the picture, on a jagged field of royal blue, the box insists, “NEW! REVOLUTIONARY POWER BLEND (trademark) BLADE.” Looking at the picture, I’m not sure how “NEW!” this “REVOLUTIONARY” “BLADE” is. It looks exactly like the blade in my mom’s old Oster. That blender served us well for 20 years or more, gracing our kitchen with its warm, harvest gold tones, its multiple speeds you had to punch up in sequence, from CHOP to FRAPPE, exuding a sense of choice and freedom, options galore, even though we never used more than those two.

Dad just came in to talk to me for a minute and went back out, never noticing the blender box sitting on the chair next to me. Maybe it’s because I didn’t have the side with the “12 Speed with Glass Jar!” bright green sticker facing him.

When our old Oster was finally retired, my mom purchased a cheap and far inferior replacement with a dubious brand name. It only had three speeds–fast, slow, and off. The center hole lid got lost, and the larger plastic lid started cracking after not too long. Eventually, the jar part (I guess that’s what you’d call it, looking at this box here) cracked as well, and that’s no good at all. My mother went down and bought replacements for the amount she could have spent on a good new blender. The replacement parts aren’t much better. No one can unscrew the blade off of the jar, but it leaks anyway. I dunno. The thought of mayonnaise or Slimfast in the gears doesn’t warm my heart.

Stephanie and Nathan to the rescue. Since my sister and her new husband got several blenders for their wedding, they thought they’d give one to Mom. And so this new Oster (registered trademark) BLENDER sits unopened in its box beside me, oozing excitement, much like our leaky blender oozes milkshakes. At least, that’s what the marketing people in charge of designing the box set out to do, if not make the potential excitement of owning your very own “VERSATILE BLENDER WITH A REVOLUTIONARY ICE CRUSHING BLADE” jump right out at you. Hmm… maybe it was REVOLUTIONARY back in the seventies, but the picture doesn’t look much different than our old Oster
did. It says “Osterizer” on the front, the harvest gold has been replaced by a sterile, but professional, white, and the buttons have different names. CHOP is still there, though in the middle instead of at the end, but I don’t see FRAPPE. That’s okay. I never knew what it meant anyway.

It’s got an “ALL METAL DRIVE” according to a metallic graphic overlapping the picture of the blender. I guess that’s comforting. I’ve never been the mechanical sort.

My brother just came in here and, finally noticing the blender box, demanded in puzzlement, “Why do you have the blender in here?” Ben has always been the observant type. He informed me it is a good thing the drive is “ALL METAL” because it might break if it were plastic.

Oh, if I turn the box, the jagged blue field stretches around the corner to display a cryptic diagram with a possible key, “Ice crushing power in an instant!” Then there’s a paragraph underneath assuring me this is

“Everything You Need In a Blender”

“Designed for performance and versatility, the 12 Speed Osterizer (registered trademark) Power Blend makes everything from chopping to juicing fast and easy. The ice crush power feature plus the revolutionary stainless
steel Power Blend (trademark) blade are designed to crush ice more completely for the smoothest frozen drinks in an instant. Twelve continuous speeds with pulse action on every speed give you precise blending control.
And your Osterizer’s (registered trademark) exclusive All-Metal Drive (trademark) system simply won’t wear out. Osterizer (registered trademark)–America’s first choice in blenders for over 60 years.”

So maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was REVOLUTIONARY in the thirties.

The rest of this box side is, no doubt, extolling the virtues of this most superior machine in Spanish before getting lost in an avalanche of grapes and peaches. The next side of the box is a rerun of the opposite side, even down to the mint leaves.

Ah, last side, and, we’re in luck, it’s all in English this time. “The Cutting Edge of Blender Technology.” Oh ho! How witty! Hmm… the rest of it seems to be repeating itself. Oh, there is a one year limited warranty. What does that mean? It covers the “ALL METAL DRIVE” but not the glass jar?

I bet the glass breaks in a week.

I just got back from the Stones’, where I went over songs with Shawn. Justin managed to come away with a bag full of beef ribs, which he and Dennis and Grody and the cats and I just ate, and books on C,_Schrodinger’s Kittens_, and _The Linux Bible, as well as Linux slackware3.2. So I’ve been eating ribs and reading the linux bible. I found it humorous that Shawn, who’s a double E major, and Justin, who’s taking a class on C, didn’t know how to pronounce “Linux.” It’s all in thecompany you keep, I suppose.

“Before you looms one of the most complex and utterly intimidating systems every written. Linux, the free UNIX clone for the personal computer, produced by a mishmash team of UNIX gurus, hackers,and the occasional loon.” –page 9

“Linux is not difficult to install and use. However, as with any implementation of UNIX, there is often some black magic involved to get everything working correctly. We hope that this book will get you on the Linux tour bus and show you how groovy this operating system can be.” –page 14

“Linux is a freely distributable version of UNIX developed primarily by Linus Torvalds at the University of Helsinki in Finland…Linux was originally developed as a hobby project by Linus Torvalds.” –page 15

0.01 was made available in 1991

It’s a huge book. Almost 1600 pages. I didn’t get past the introduction.

On the way to Holly’s tonight, we were listening to the soundtrack to That Thing You Do which led to Max telling Dennis he needed to be exposed to Jacob’s Trouble and how the best song is These Thousand Hills which we listened to all across Wyoming and how that was a fun road trip and shouldn’t we do that again sometime?

“Mount Rushmore!” I suggested.

“We can all chip in and allow four days and go, you want to?” said Max, “We could go week after next.”

“Uh, that’s in the middle of camp.”

So I dunno.I think Max is planning on being around for camp, which would be REALLY nice. We can use all the experienced counselors we can get.

Dang, I’ve got that stupid Thing You Do song stuck in my head now. You hear it like four times in the movie.

When we got home tonight, Max said, “I’m going to bed,” but then ran downstairs, ripping his shirt off. He ran back up a minute later, another shirt unbuttoned and sticking his handgun into a holster. He ran out the back door saying, “I’ll be back in a sec.” Dennis went running after him, then ran out the front door, since Max had run around to that side of the house. He came back in a minute. Then Max came back saying something like, “I’m back. Goodnight,” and going downstairs for good.

He heard something as we were coming in. Which is why he stood out in the driveway staring north instead of coming in and snapped, “It’s symbolic, Jonah,” when he wanted me to shut up so he could hear better.

They were right. I did hear the kids that morning, but I’m used to sleeping through noise. Eventually, I picked up my watch and looked at it. 8:00. I got up and started changing clothes as Tess told me through the closed slat doors what time it was and asked if I wanted to get up. I shoved everything back into my bag and saw Tess dragging her kids out the front door. “I’m going to get syrup for pancakes,” she said, “I’ll be back in ten minutes.” I told her I didn’t know if I’d be there that long. Tiptoeing upstairs, it appeared like Margery and Katherine we’re still in bed, so I left a note with a black crayon I found on the table, grabbed my bag, and loaded it into the car.

I found my way back to the highway easily enough and headed east. But the road I was on dissolved into a regular street. I got some gas and was about to turn around when I saw a McDonalds further down. I was just going to get coffee, but the sign talked me into purchasing one of those hash brown things and an Egg McMuffin for only 55 cents! Except I ended up spending like three dollars. How did that happen?

Pouring half and half into the little spout thing of my styrofoam cup, I made my way back down the street and found a sign for the road north I was looking for. Soon I was out of Dallas and on my way to Wichita Falls, listening to the far reach of Dallas’ cool alternative station. That died far too soon, and I was left shuffling between a classic rock and mix station. Then those were gone too, and scan on my radio would flip all the way around the dial to come back to the only station it could reach–and a country one at that.

The road from Wichita Falls to Amarillo is very lonely, but beautiful that way. Heading down the highway with my cruise control set on 90, sitting cross legged in my seat and watching hypnotically for non-existent cops, I decided what I’d do for the rest of my life: live in a trailer, maybe run a few head of cattle or write, and operate a classical music station somewhere between Amarillo and Wichita Falls.

Amarillo offered relief, as I knew it would. It has a cool college station that plays alternative and… well… weird stuff. But it was gone too soon as well. I stopped in a little town for gas and a malt and onion rings at the Sonic. “Be careful,” said the man behind the gas counter as I left. Maybe he meant, “Be careful to pay attention to where you’re going.”

I kept looking at the road signs, knowing I needed to head west into New Mexico on 89. But the road signs kept saying 289. The towns I hit seemed to correspond with my map, but why didn’t the road say 89 anymore? Then, I realized I had failed to make a turn. It wouldn’t be too far toback track, or I could turn at the next town and go down then over. But 289 headed straight north into Oklahoma and then Colorado. Flipping to Colorado in my atlas, I found I could go north and then head west to Pueblo just fine. And I’ve never seen much of south east Colorado. There really isn’t much to see. It was emptier than the part of Texas I’d been through. It seemed to be a truck route. I passed them constantly, discovering the Toyota has a governor at 100, though I did manage to get it up to 105 going downhill.

Suddenly, the truck in front of me was stopped, so I put on my hazard and pulled up behind him. Truckers were getting out of their cabs, collecting, and chatting. After several minutes, I figured I might as well get a stretch. A big trucker in overalls and a beard came up from the rig behind me, “Alabama, huh?” “That’s right.” “Where you headed?” “Colorado Springs. Just graduated from college and heading out to stay with some friends.” He was hauling an escalator to Aspen from Texas. “So what’s going on here?” I asked him. “Construction. It’s like this all the time. Did you notice that whole line coming from the other direction back there?” “Yeah, I wondered what that was all about.” “They waited on the other side for an hour or so.” “An hour?” “Sometimes.”

It was less than an hour. The flagman waved his orange plastic, and we all got back into our vehicles. But we had to wait for the trucks coming the other direction to pass first. Then we got to go over the dirt and bumps of the lane not being currently built. “Don’t be in a hurry,” the trucker with the bib overalls told me, “These trucks can’t go so fast.” So I spent the next hundred miles driving at 30 miles under my usual speed and watching the radio scanner go all the way around without picking up anything except one country station. On AM.

In Lamar, I turned west as it started raining. I didn’t go as fast because the Arkansas River is accompanied by a string of little towns and hills that are hard to see around in order to pass people. Finally, I got to Pueblo and headed north on I-25. Then I was in Monument in no time.

The Bremers were seated around the dinner table when I arrived. Michele came to the door and gave me a hug. Eli jumped up and shouted, “Jonah! Demolition hug!” and we rushed toward each other arms outstretched, stopping just short of embracing. I sat down in the place Spirit vacated and helped myself to homemade pizza and salad. Max was on the phone with Stephanie Stone and had been, from what I gathered, for quite some time. Eli took me out to the henhouse to seethe ducklings, who we took swimming in the water tank and then gave flying lessons. Nicole walked in and was very surprised to see me. She had to go back home to get a phone call but promised to come back. I gave her my number and asked her to call home and tell my family I got there, since Max was still using this phone.

Max finally got off and greeted me with an awkward hug, declared he was tired, and went to bed. Eli and Nicole and I played a card game Nicole had learned recently but wasn’t sure of all the rules.

I had Justin’s room for the night since he hadn’t come back from college yet. I fell asleep curled up beneath a down comforter.

—This concludes Jonah’s Trek Out West. If you failed to receive parts one and two, transcripts are available upon request at [email protected]

Dodging the funnel clouds, we made it to the Galleria Mall in Dallas safely. The Russian shop was kinda cool, full of nesting dolls, Soviet uniform coats, and medals. Some of them were labeled, telling what they were for and “very rare” added. I laughed and wondered if they really were. How could the average American tell?

Katherine is a Russian addict. Back in her room, she had a map of Russia on one of her walls. I mentioned that, until recently, my room had been plastered with maps of Russia. “I sense a bond here,” joked Margery.

We sat down in the cafe area overlooking an ice skating rink and ordered borscht and a bunch of other things that looked interesting: crepes with meat and cottage cheese, potato dumplings, and cabbage rolls. I couldn’t remember the Russian name for all of them if I tried. Margery kept saying what a wonderful color the beets made the borscht. “I wish I hada skirt this color,” she said. I leaned forward to tip her bowl. “That’s two,” she pointed a warning finger at me before I got close enough to actually do anything destructive, while Mikey and Katherine laughed uproariously, “Yes, I think she’s definitely IPS material.”

I ordered hot tea with my meal. We all traded around so everyone could have a little of everything. While we were eating, I kept thinking about Anna Karenina and the food in that book. During the main course, Margery said, “This reminds me of Anna Karenina.” “Yes, I was thinking the same thing,” agreed Katherine. Mikey nodded.

I sipped at my third cup of tea before we left for the bookstore, where Katherine and Margery had arranged to meet some folks in their idea of a wild night out. “Are you sure it’s all right?” they kept asking me. I told them they could lock me in a bookstore, and I’d be happy the rest of my life. When we finally departed, Mikey asked me, “You’re coming away empty-handed?” “I don’t BUY books,” I told him, “I go to people’s houses and take what they’re giving away.”

Margery pulled out an umbrella and opened it. “I have an umbrella here if anyone wants to share,” she offered. “No, thanks,” I said, “I don’t believe in umbrellas.” “Somehow I didn’t think you were,” she responded, “Anyone who is traveling around the world…” “I haven’t gone YET.”

Tess, the mother of the house Katherine lives in, insisted I sleep on the couch downstairs that she’d already made up for me. Katherine warned me that the kids would wake me up at 6 something. “What time were you thinking of leaving?” “About eight.” “Eight?! You should have told us! We wouldn’t have kept you out so late!” It wasn’t even midnight. As It brushed my teeth up in Katherine’s bathroom, she asked, “Are you sure the kids won’t bother you in the morning? Are you sure the couch will be okay?” I offered assurance that I should be just fine and wouldn’t have any trouble sleeping at all. “I guess not, since you’re traveling around the world.” “I haven’t gone YET.”

—Stay tuned for another exciting episode of Jonah’s Trek Out West.